Holding Up The Sky Book IV AlRai
by M. Wheels
Summary: HUTS Continues: The Wildcards, McQueen, and Kylen must all fight their own wars. The battles continue on Earth and in space. Battles for The Pink, but also the battles for Self. Battles for Truth.
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER

The characters and situations of Space: Above and Beyond depicted in this story are the legal property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions, and 20th Century Fox Television and have been used without permission. The basic character ideas for Amy Langston and Dale Steinbeck are borrowed from Rayhne and the gang at S:AaB Virtual TV, and are used with permission. All Authors quoted are listed below. No copyright infringement is intended.

IV - Al Rai

Ladder: Navy and Marine Corps terminology for "stairway." The term harkens back to the days when men served aboard sailing vessels. 

(One)

16 April 2065 

Saratoga

0500

It was a metallic, tinny', hollow sound - almost a banging - and it seemed unreasonably loud in the confined space of the stairwell. It was the sound of McQueen's feet as he pounded up the ladder. A trained ear, if concentrated, could hear a slight unevenness in the sound and rhythm. 

Running the ladders in the bow of the Saratoga had been part of Colonel McQueen's workout since the day he had come aboard two years earlier, as it had been on every carrier on which he had served. The forward ladders - the "A" ladders on carriers - were generally empty, and he could really build up a good head of steam. McQueen wanted to think. It was going to be a big day, and he needed to sort a few things into compartments in his mind before it got started.

____________________

The night before, when McQueen had returned to the Saratoga, Ross had decided that the Colonel should meet with the 5-8's flight crew. And Ross wanted to do it with a certain flair. The Commodore and the Colonel had appeared in the hanger while the crew was still busy. The officers had quietly greeted the Chief. Something about McQueen's voice had pierced the cacophony of the flightdeck, and all activity had instantaneously ceased. The silence had been punctuated by the sound of a wrench hitting the deck. One of the mechanics had been so shocked that the tool had slipped from his grip. It was a cardinal sin - but the Chief didn't react to the "ham-handed handling of U.S. Government Property." There was no fire breathing. The offender's intellect and parentage were not called into question. The usual harangue did not zing through the air. The Chief had also been shocked into silence. Commodore Ross had been correct. The sight of McQueen entering the flightdeck had scared the snot out of the crew. Ross damn near laughed. McQueen had known, of course, how proud the flight crew was of their Hammerheads and their pilots, but he had not realized their obvious pride in him as well. A trip to the Enlisted Club and a few drams all around had been needed for purely medicinal purposes - and by this morning the entire ship would know that McQueen was back. When he chose to, Ross knew how to use the shipboard "jungle drums" to his advantage.

The Wildcards had been granted entrance to the Enlisted Club by Ross' special fiat. Cooper had had to stand a round to the crew, and he hated to part with the money. Hawkes was still learning the finer points, and it had amused McQueen, who had patted Coop sympathetically on the back while the bartender totaled the tab. 

____________________

McQueen ran back down Ladder A and immediately turned and started up again. True, there were longer, more challenging staircases throughout the ship, but they were heavily trafficked, and consequently not suited for running. On one occasion, McQueen had run up the longest: Ladder seven in section"M" of the ship. Up from the hold to the very top of the 'island' superstructure of the ship - all thirty-one stories - in one shot.

It had been a dare: An after-hours bet after a few drinks with Commodore Ross. Glen had ordered Ladder Seven closed to traffic at 0430 and had timed the run. When McQueen had reached the top, Ross had handed him a marker and McQueen had written his name on the bulkhead outside the lidar control room. He had held the record for seven months. Then Ross had once again closed the ladder for a run by an eighteen-year-old challenger. The kid had bettered McQueen's time by four seconds: It wasn't four seconds that McQueen wanted to contend. Not then and certainly not now.

____________________

Last night Ross had ordered that The Tun be kept open after hours, had escorted the Fifty-eighth to the doors, and dismissed the bartender. He had then wished them all a good night, reminding them at what time they were all expected to be on duty - sober - the next day. Vanessa fired up the jukebox, and Nathan acted as bartender. Shane broke out the cards. Poker. It had just seemed right. Hawkes lost more than he won, but not as badly as he used to. McQueen rightly suspected that Vansen had ordered her Marines not to ask any questions about the upcoming mission, and consequently poker provided the diversion. The conversation remained convivial. The Wildcards caught McQueen up on the war from "not exactly on the front," and he told them his impressions of things at home.

No one asked about his leg. If he was on the Saratoga - in on the mission - he must be good to go.

____________________

One more time up the ladder. It was getting tougher. Thankfully, McQueen had not seen - or been seen by - anyone else this morning. He had made the first pass without a flaw, but had stumbled once on his second pass and three times on the third. The leg was absolutely the best prosthetic around, but it was not perfect. And McQueen was still learning the finer points. He jogged the length of the craft back toward the lift that would take him up into the superstructure - the guest quarters. 

______________________

Colonel McQueen had been impressed with how Vansen handled what was now basically 'her' squadron. She had managed to find that narrow space that left her command clearly defined but did not negate the relationship that she had established with the others.

After several hands of poker, and when each of the Wildcards had had his or her limit of spirits, the small party broke up for the night. McQueen noted that Nathan was lagging behind. When the others had moved down the hallway, McQueen turned to West.

"Ask, Lieutenant," he said.

"Kylen, Sir. How is she really? What has she gotten herself into? What is this job?" Nathan was obviously trying not to let his mouth - and his curiosity run away with him.

"Walk with me," McQueen said, and the two made their way toward his guest quarters. The Colonel told Nathan about life on Ridge Farm, and then filled him in as best as he could considering that he didn't know a whole lot about Kylen's new job either: Just that she was going to be working as an analyst for Intelligence. His final words before entering the lift:

"She is probably reading people's mail. Kylen is more than likely buried in some office at Quantico, bored out of her mind and having real second thoughts about this. Don't worry. She'll be fine."

____________________

Impulsively McQueen now skirted the elevators and entered the staircase where he had set his record. He leaned up against the bulkhead that separated the stairs from the main engines, and waited for his heart rate to return to normal. McQueen wanted to do something he had never done before. At the moment, he could think of only one other person in the universe who might already have done it. There might be any number of people, of course, but he knew only one person for sure - Commodore Ross. 

McQueen had experienced the idiosyncrasies of individual Hammerheads - how different they each felt under his hands. And he had never doubted Glen Ross' assertion that carriers showed the same individuality in handling and temperament.

Since the end of the CC War, all supercarriers, no matter what their country of registry, had been built to the same plan. It was why the salvage of the Eisenhower was so critical. The hangar bays of the Saratoga were painted all white, with the ship's name in gold lettering. This was not for aesthetics: One only had to look at the rest of the ship to know that aesthetics were low on the list of priorities. The color and the name were points of pride, of course, but were really there to let pilots know precisely where they were. There were stories of young or exhausted pilots trying to dock in the wrong carrier - any port in a storm. There were subtleties and a difference in the general atmosphere between vessels but - without the paint - hangar bays and carriers all looked the same to the untrained eye.

The Saratoga was the fourth carrier Ty had served aboard, and for most of his career the huge ships had been nothing more than a means to an end. Three hots and a cot. Heavily armored garages that took him close to where he had to be. They were the platforms from which he flew, and it hadn't much mattered which ship had provided the service.

This morning - amazingly - there was no other traffic on the normally busy record-contested ladder. McQueen turned around and placed the palms of his hands flat against the bulkhead. It was unyielding to the touch, and cool even though the engine room was on the other side of the firewall. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead against the wall, closed his eyes, and waited to see if his theory would be proved There There it was A vibration. A vibration that was generally not felt - and that was unheard under the general hum of the ship.

The men and women who served aboard the Saratoga gave the ship action and helped to form her spirit. Her heart? Her heart was Glen Ross - without question. Ross set the tone. The atmosphere and morale flowed from him.

But this? This was Saratoga. Her touch. Her song. Her signature. The soul of Sara.'

A hatch opened several decks below McQueen, and the low sound of conversation flowed into the space, disrupting his thoughts. Eighteen flights above him, on the bulkhead outside of the lidar control room, his signature was on the wall. And the Kid's. And five months after the Kid had signed, the ladder had been briefly closed again, and someone had challenged and beaten **that **record. There were now three signatures, and to "Run Up Ladder Seven" had become part of the Saratoga legend and tradition.

The first run had been McQueen's. 

He left the ladder and took one of Sara's elevators up to his deck. 

He was still learning the finer points.

End Chapter One

AlRai M. Wheels


	2. Two AlRai

(Two)

War Room

SCVN Saratoga

16 April 2065

1300

Eleven officers the rank of Colonel or above were seated in Commodore Ross' conference room. A slightly higher number of adjutants and a few XOs were cooling their heels fourteen decks below. Redundancy. Not all the people in the know were in the same place at the same time. In fact similar meetings were taking place on the supercarriers USS Lexington, HMAS Vengeance, and DRC Cao Xuegui. The S-2s (Intelligence Officers) started the briefings with information that was, for the most part, old news to the participants.

"Our enemy has to know that large numbers of Earth forces are on the move, but our destination has apparently been unclear to them. Large numbers of Chig vessels appear to have been withdrawn from the Kappa Reticuli since we last had eyes-on intelligence in this sector. It is postulated that these ships took part in the battles for Demios and Ixion, or were pulled to reinforce Anvil. 

There have been reports of increased harassment at Tartarus. Increased enemy activity has been reported around Anvil and Ixion, but the Chigs seem unable to organize an effective counterattack in any one area - or are holding back their forces to see what we will do next."

This last statement brought a few murmurs from the assembled officers. The S-2 promptly continued.

"Madame Secretary, Diane Hayden, reportedly reviews the situation daily, and - daily - reissues the United Nations "HOLD" order on Operation Roundhammer, the invasion of the Chig homeworld."

Again there was murmuring from the group - louder this time, with more than a hint of frustration. The S-2 spoke over the noise.

"The United Nations is attempting to start a dialogue with the enemy in hopes of starting serious peace negotiations. In the meantime, however, the Security Council has not declared any cessation of hostilities. I repeat: There is NO cease-fire."

The room became quiet once again, and he continued the briefing.

"There have been no more experimental Sewell-fueled Chig fighters reported in any sector. Intelligence speculates that the project has either been dropped or was at least moved to the back burner after a single Earth fighter was able to destroy the prototype." 

__

"The pilot had grown overconfident is all. He didn't know how to handle fear. No matter what he may have thought or believed - he really wasn't ready to die for it. I had no fear. I was ready to die. I just wanted it more that day," McQueen reflected.

The people in the room who knew that it had been McQueen who had taken out the Chig ace were too well bred - or too well trained - to call attention to him by looking in his direction.

The Intelligence officer continued. "There is hope - and evidence to support that hope - that the Chigs believe that the secrets of their new fighter have been broken. Sewell fuel exhaust does not register on conventional sensors. However, we now have its mass spec signature. Prototypes of new spectrometry sensors are being distributed to our recon flights and selected fighters units for testing. Now, gentlemen, down to the business at hand: Operation Brass Ring." 

The briefing lasted forty-five minutes.

Task Force 85, under the Command of Admiral H.B. Nash, was to converge on the Kappa Reticuli from six different directions. The force contained 16 super carriers, 20 light carriers, 4256 fighter aircraft, 150 bombers, 632 ISS wing configurations, 200 assorted aircraft, 14 battleships, 125 destroyers, 30 cruisers, 38 troop transports, and 42 supply vessels. On board those vessels were 2 divisions of US Marines, 2 divisions of Republic of China infantry, 1 division each of EEC Marines and infantry, 1 Oceanea combined division, 36 combined artillery, and 4 international Marine provisional brigades. It was a total of 165,624 assault troops.

Early reconnaissance had shown there to be only two inhabited bodies in the system. The third planet, Cerrus, and its moon, Kazbek. The Earth force was to advance from six different directions - north, south, east, west, above, and below. A seventh arm of Task Force 85 was to be dispatched to cover the Butterfly Nebula.

Sixteen ships were to be dispatched to blockade Kazbek, along with the troop transports and most of the supply ships. Force Recon teams were to be sent down with the sole mission of disrupting communications. The goal was to avoid direct confrontation with the enemy (which, it was reported, was over 90% Silicate renegades) until Cerrus was "neutralized."

"H" hour was designated 0330, local time, 20 April 2065.

Saratoga

En route to Kappa Reticuli

1445

Colonel McQueen and Captain Shane Vansen moved purposefully through the passageways of the Saratoga en route to a meeting with Captain Chan. It was their first private meeting since the Colonel's return. Unfortunately it had to be short, to the point, and done on the move.

"Before we join Captain Chan," McQueen said, "what about Damphousse?"

Shane was not in the least surprised by the question. McQueen knew them all well, and he had a keen eye.

"2063 Yankee really took its toll, Sir. Don't get me wrong: Phousse can hold her own. She's gotten five Chig fighters - one on one - in the last few months. Vanessa is flying better than ever, but"

"But what?" 

"She She It's like she is pulling away. She is more distant - distracted. Fatalistic. If it was anyone else I'd say that she thought her number was up."

McQueen remembered when Vansen had told him that she thought that she wasn't going to come back from a mission. He recalled that his answer had been brisk and unembellished. But it had served its purpose. She had come back. The feeling had passed. 

Vansen read his mind. "I told her what you told me, Colonel. About making your own luck It didn't have the same effect. I don't like it, Sir. Vanessa is starting to get to get."

The Colonel thought of Vanessa getting all weepy when she had seen him. Crying was not her style at all. Or at least it didn't used to be. He stopped abruptly and Vansen had to turn and take two steps back toward him.

"Yes. Yes I know," McQueen said softly, and then spoke with more strength. "Captain, I want her with me - on Temporary Duty. This will be clear in a few minutes."

Shane's mind worked at incredible speed. "_He said temporary. And I know how Vanessa_

feels about him - especially after she had the visions on Daedelus. I know that he tried 

to do what he could for her. He tried to take the heat off of her. This could be a good

thing. He did say temporary." 

"Aye, aye, Sir, " she said, giving him look of understanding.

"Very well. Let's see Chan," McQueen said, and they were off again.

Interrogation Room Four

Saratoga

1500

McQueen was addressing Captains Chan and Vansen. The briefing had an air of informality that was comfortable to Shane - and something new for Marshall. What McQueen had to say was old news to Chan. They had discussed it at length during the boring hours on The Hue City. But McQueen was determined that there be no confusion. People needed to know who was who, and what was expected. The Colonel was permitted to build his own team - the privilege of his rank - and in his mind Chan had earned the right to be there while he did it. The sooner his adjutant started working with the Cards, the better. Commodore Ross' idea of having the Captain bunk with them had been brilliant. It was only three days, but every minute counted.

"Vansen, the Fifty-eighth is being TDY'd to the Twenty-third MEU. As CO it is within my authority to form a Maritime Special Purpose Force - MSPF - a special-operations-capable force that we can tailor for specific missions or use to augment other conventional or special operations. This MSPF will be under my direct command. Captain Vansen, as of this moment you are to take command of this special force - the Wildcards. You will work extremely closely with Captain Chan. We are all going to be busy people, and he may on occasion have to speak for me. Take the next two days to get to know each other."

Shane experienced mixed emotions. It felt so right to have McQueen giving her orders again - to have him in command again. But he was no longer just the CO of the Fifty-eighth. He now commanded an entire Expeditionary Unit. Over 2,500 Marines. A heavy responsibility. The Colonel now had a staff and an adjutant, and he would need them. Even if technically she would report directly to McQueen, it was not unreasonable that Chan would be a contact point.

__

"Just as long as he doesn't try to run interference," she thought.

Marshall Chan read her mind. "It this case, Captain," he said, subtly emphasizing their equality in rank, "I won't be running interference for the Colonel. I'm ordered to run interference for you." 

Chan had come up with the line late one night on The Hue. McQueen had liked it then, and now, facing Shane Vansen, he liked it even better. "_Yes, Captain Marshall Chan can play well with others."_

Captain Vansen was forced to give a slight smile that mimicked McQueen's. 

" Good," McQueen thought. _" They're starting to speak the same language. They're starting to read each other's minds." _McQueen chose to give Vansen a bit of information.

__

"Captain Chan commanded a platoon on Minerva and on Ixion. Don't worry, Vansen, he will know what you need to get the job done."

Shane had thoughts of her own_. "McQueen has had this Marshall Chan around for four months. And if he didn't think that Chan could do the job, the guy would be gone. He hasn't always been a REMF and he seems to have McQueen's trust. More importantly, he will have access **and** the Colonel's ear."_ Still, old habits die hard, and Vansen put a slightly different spin on the assignment than Chan might. The difference was just who was joining whom. "_Welcome to the Fifty-eighth, Marshall," _she thought. 

"Our mission, Sir?" she asked.

"The Wildcards have been held in reserve specifically for this mission, code-named Brass Ring. We are going to take Kazbek."

"Sewell fuel," she whispered.

McQueen nodded and then spoke. "We are assigned to take the mine on Kazbek. There have only been a few men on the ground on planet: The colonial survivors, of course; the Special Forces team that extracted us; and us." 

All three officers knew - without saying as much - why Special Forces was not significantly involved in this mission. There had been the distinct taint of Aerotech all over Special Forces and the Alien Intelligence Unit. Both areas of the military had been given a quiet "housecleaning" over the last few months. The dust still hadn't settled.

"The mine and its environs are the responsibility of the Twenty-third MEU. Until that time comes, Vansen, the MSPF will troubleshoot for us. We will use you where we need you. You will be playing fast and loose, and I will probably have to use you for some liaison work. I will need all your eyes and ears."

"Understood, Colonel." she said. The Fifty-eighth, while under McQueen's command, had been well used to improvisation and special missions. Usually they were the sharp point of the spear. It was like old times. 

"The rest of the Fifty-eighth is in Orientation Room 14-A, Colonel," Chan said.

"Let's go."

The briefing with the Wildcards took forty minutes.

Captain Chan was to stay on the Saratoga with the Wildcards until the invasion began. Staff Sergeant Marsh was to move up into officer's country - to the Wildcard's quarters - to familiarize the team with the communications codes and channels. Damphousse was to join McQueen on the Hue City. She was to learn the communications from McQueen's Command Post team. And she was to get up to speed with the large picture of the engineer's mission as well. Essentially Damphousse would become Colonel McQueen's communications whiz and his personal pocket engineer. 

"Any questions?" McQueen asked. There were none. Chan gestured for permission to speak. 

"Captain Chan?"

"Sir, I've set up a workroom for us. Storage room B-9, deck sixteen. I've arranged for us to have dinner there at 1700."

"_Damn, he is an efficient SOB. I have been lucky to have him," _thought McQueen.

"OK, enjoy the next hour, people," McQueen said. "It's going to be your last free hour in the foreseeable future."

As the team began to leave the room, Cooper grabbed Nathan by the arm. "Play along. I wan'na see if we can get some of those new Chiggy sensors for our Hammerheads. The Colonel told us to ask Chan. Let's see if 'Chan the Man' can do it. Maybe he really can get us what we need," he whispered. The two approached the Colonel's adjutant. "Captain Chan, you wan'na join us for a swim?"

McQueen heard the invitation and could not suppress his urge to eavesdrop. "_Now what in the hell is Hawkes up to?"_

Chan paused, momentarily confused, and then said: "Thanks very much, Lieutenant. I think that I would. Carriers. So there really is a swimming pool?"

Nathan had warmed to Cooper's plan and was ready to play along.

"Captain, we also have a bowling alley, shooting range, and the zero gravity chamber too. But the pool is considered an emergency water source. So may I suggest that you comport yourself appropriately," Nathan said.

Vansen, who had also overheard the exchange, saw the question on Chan's face. "What he means, Marshall, is "Don't pee in the pool."

The Wildcards left the briefing. McQueen, now alone in the room was forced to consider ruefully: "_I wonder how long before they teach Chan the Man' how to run with scissors?"_

End Chapet Two

AlRai M. Wheels


	3. Three AlRai

(Three)

20 April 2065

The Pentagon

Washington, DC,

USA

1853

The briefing on Brass Ring had lasted the better part of the day. General Becca Green was pretty well impressed with the whole thing. There were still several points that worried her a bit, but the mission team had done its best to minimize the risks. There were a number of innovative solutions, and Green thought that she could see Tyrus McQueen's hand in a few of them. Her suspicions were confirmed when, several times during the briefing, Wierek looked very pointedly at her as if to say: "That's why I wanted him." 

__

"I'm amazed at how Tyrus McQueen can use the patterns of military history and still come up with the unexpected - the unconventional. It is exceptional - a gift, pure and simple," she thought. _"But damn it, McQueen should be here - involved in this presentation. His input should be recognized. Tyrus should be allowed to take credit - even if he would never try to do so. This is the arena where he needs practice. This is the place he needs to see and be seen. I want all these officers to get used to him. I want his career moves not to seem pushed or forced, but inevitable."_

Speaking of career moves and being seen in the right company, General Green had seen Kylen several times during the day - in the hallways and waiting around on the sidelines. Green had watched Kylen 'minioning' at two of the sessions - handling the briefcases and audiovisuals for Radford and his crew. General Oliver Radford moved through the Pentagon with little fanfare. It was both his nature and his job to remain low key, but he did have four stars. There was no way he could go unnoticed - people knew him by sight. But Radford kept his entourage small - and his staff rotating, so they weren't readily noticed and didn't become too well known. There had been no one here today that Green could remember having seen before, and it would probably be months before she saw any one of them again. Even that Major that had been in charge of Kylen -

"_Major Howard," _she remembered, rather proudly - had been missing. Becca Green had always felt that, low key or not, Radford took great pleasure in his work, loving the gamesmanship as much as the game itself. Yes, there was a bit of Peter Pan in Ollie Radford. Already years ago, when he was still an 'up and comer,' Becca had termed his disappearing and reappearing team "The Lost Boys."

General Radford had taken a different tack with Kylen, however. He had put her out front in an extremely public forum. _" A few weeks ago he wanted her seen and he wanted her known to everyone that matters. He has plans for Kylen. I wonder - all things considered - if I really want to know what they are?"_

But General Green noted that Kylen had NOT been at all the sessions. Kylen did know an awful lot, but she didn't know all there was to know - not by a long shot. _"Yes, Ollie is going to use her for something."_

Tyrus McQueen had assured Becca that Kylen would do well, and apparently she had. And today she had given Green something else to think about. Kylen had almost been TOO invisible. Green doubted that many people today recognized her as the charming young woman who had created a minor sensation a few months ago by dancing the tango with the Commandant and the Finnish Ambassador. _"Huh. Well, it seems that Kylen CAN blend in if called upon to do so. I wonder if Radford was testing her today? It would follow: It's his style."_

"So, Kylen isn't to be one of The Lost Boys. Closer to Tinkerbelle than Wendy in temperament, but - at least today - not a good match for either of those characters." Today Kylen had reminded General Green of the little shadow that Ollie had stitched to his feet. _"Peter Pan's Shadow. My shadow. My very own shadow.'"_ But McQueen had also told General Green that Kylen was an independent thinker._ "I wonder how long before one of 'The Boys' loses her?" If not Peter himself." _Green turned to her aide. "Track down Kylen Celina. If I'm still here, I'll bet that she is too."

"Excuse me, General. Ms. Celina, Ma'am?" Green's aide could only picture a young woman in a blue silk gown - not anyone that had been at the Pentagon today.

__

"Right again," thought Green. _"Clever, Ollie, very clever." _ Kylen had been invisible out in plain sight. "Radford's little blonde aide. Find her for me." 

The anonymous little blonde aide was indeed still in the Pentagon. Kylen was essentially done for the day. She just had to pack up some of the presentation materials - the materials she was cleared to see. But Kylen wasn't doing her work. She was sitting alone in the conference room, leaning back with her feet on the chair in front of her. A shocking and distinctly civilian posture. Kylen's attention was focused on the holographic map projected at the far end of the room. It was the Kappa Reticuli. The map was "empty," meaning that there were no indicators of the military units or ships involved in the operation - just the pristine stars and the lustrous planets. There was Kazbek, smack in the middle of it all. There was something about the projection that Kylen found deeply disturbing.

General Green entered the room, and Kylen attempted to scramble to her feet.

"As you were." Green spoke automatically, but she flashed a winning smile. Kylen sat down again - with her feet on the floor. Green stood behind her and placed one hand on Kylen's shoulder - an almost affectionate gesture. The two contemplated the map in silence - almost silence for Kylen occasionally shifted in her chair and sighed heavily. After some time, Green asked: "What bothers you?"

The General was feeling slightly motherly toward Kylen, The Little Shadow. The young woman looked tired and alone. Green expected to hear Kylen say how lonely she felt being in DC. She expected Kylen to say something about her imprisonment, or the mines, or how she had survived, or what she had lost - unresolved personal issues. But General Green was in for a surprise.

Kylen crossed to the map and circled it, sizing it up as one would size up an opponent. She suddenly reached out and stuck her hand into the projection, disrupting part of the image. 

"This," she spat accusingly. "This is garbage. It's BS!" The broken image slowly coalesced. Kylen gave it another swat just for good measure, and the nebula's image dissolved again.

The weak link in Operation Brass Ring had always been the Butterfly Nebula. Months earlier, when the Fifty-eighth had been held captive, West had been able to lie successfully to Kylen's clone - or double, or whatever it had been. He had said that the Fleet was coming in through the back door - from behind the nebula. His ruse had worked, and the Chig fleet had moved out to engage an enemy that didn't exist. It had worked because it was plausible and because it was possible. The nebula would present a problem for any force on either side of it. It had certainly worried minds with more military expertise than Kylen's. It gave Becca Green heartburn. It was a blind side as big as all outdoors.

****

"Colonel McQueen told me that you were very bright," Becca admitted.

"General, you don't have to be bright to see that piece of crap." Kylen, in a fit of pique, again disrupted the offending projection. "That isn't a serpent slithering under the door, General. That is Godzilla banging on it."

Becca Green couldn't have said it better herself. She was openly amused. _"Yes, certainly more Tinkerbelle than Wendy is our Little Kylen. Tinks not only had quite a temper, but the ability to anticipate danger that the Wendys of the world would walk right into."_ "Colonel McQueen also told me that you have a temper," she chuckled.

"Yeah? Well, so does he - and I'll bet this gave the Big Bird fits," Kylen muttered to herself, smacking the nebula one last time.

__

"Big Bird?" thought Green. _Did she just refer to our gifted Tyrus McQueen as Big Bird? Now that's a story that I have got to hear." _

"Join me for dinner," Green said, making it just this shy of an order. "Or did The Boys' make plans for you?"

"I'm on five day's leave starting as soon as I get this stuff secured," Kylen said. "I'm going home tomorrow afternoon."

"A reward for a job well done, Kylen," Green said easily, but the information jarred her. **_"_**Why is someone with her knowledge being allowed to travel at the start of this operation? It seems dangerous - and certainly a potential security breach Radford is a detail man. He is nothing if not subtle It's sleight of hand. It has to be If Kylen is allowed to travel, then of course nothing can be going on, right? If anyone has been watching her they will think that the operation isn't ready to go. Does Kylen have any idea that she is being used? How she is being used?" ""Well, it's up to you. The invitation is still open."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I think I'd like that. Let me just check in with General Radford. I probably should get his OK before I change any plans."

The young woman's logic was flawless. Green reached for the phone on the table, and dialed a number from memory without comment. " Yes, Miss Celina for General Radford," she said, and then handed Kylen the phone.

End Chapter Three

AlRai M. Wheels


	4. Four AlRai

(Four)

20 April 2065

Saratoga

0200

The Wildcards were in loading bay "O." Staff Sergeant Marsh and Captain Chan were dressed in their "utility" camo uniforms; the others were in flightsuits. There was a subtle difference in all of their uniforms, which were no longer strictly regulation. Under the Star Beam Fifty-eighth patch there was the patch for the Twenty-third MEU. And Marsh and Chan sported a Wildcards patch below their left breast pocket. 

Chan said "Good to go," solemnly. 

"Good to go," the team responded.

"Well, you better grab your steak and eggs while you can," Chan said.

"Captain, " Marsh said, handing the Captain an insulated carrier. "You too, Sir. For the ride over." Inside the carrier was a complete steak and eggs breakfast - hot - that Chan could wolf down while crossing over to The Hue City.

"You know what they' say, Sergeant?" Chan asked with a smile.

"Sir?"

"That a smart officer doesn't ask too many questions. That a smart officer will stay out of his Sergeant's way."

"Then this sergeant thinks that they are very bright for officers, Sir. "

"I thought that you would. Sergeants probably taught officers that pearl of wisdom."

"I would imagine that you are correct, Sir." Marsh gave him a smile. 

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant Marsh."

"My pleasure, Captain Chan."

The Cards certainly appreciated the NCOs on the flight crew, who believed as a matter of Holy Writ that the Hammerheads were theirs, and that they just lent them to the pilots. But over the past two days the Wildcards - who had never worked with their own NCO before - had been more than favorably impressed with Marsh. They had come to realize the wisdom of Chan's words. Marsh could work wonders. Having a good sergeant around was a blessing from The Corps.

Marshall Chan shook hands all around and turned to enter the gig, which would take him to the Hue.

"I spoke with Lieutenant Damphousse, Sir. They expect you in thirty mikes."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less, Staff Sergeant." Marshall Chan was not referring to the press of the time: He was referring to the fact that Marsh had - again - covered the details. 

The Hue City

0200

McQueen picked up a tray and began to move through the line in the officer's mess. He spotted Vanessa Damphousse seated alone in a corner. Soon the room would be filled, but for a few more minutes there was still space for people to be alone with their thoughts. Her breakfast was only half-eaten. As he approached, he realized that she was praying softly. He knew the prayer.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever, Amen."

McQueen waited in silence until she finished before seating himself. They had shared dinner every evening that she had been on the Hue City. Even though it was a working meal, as her breakfasts with communications and her lunches with the engineers had been, there had also been small bits and pieces of informal and personal conversation as well. As much - no, actually more - as she had experienced with McQueen before this - which wasn't much, and which made it all the more significant. Vanessa had felt able to "exhale" in his presence. But this morning she was nervous. It had unsettled her when the Colonel had walked in on her private meditation. She cast around for something neutral to say.

"Good morning, Sir," she said as he sat. "Marshall Captain Chan is due aboard shortly," she reported. 

Far from being shocked at Vanessa's momentary breach of protocol - referring to a senior officer by his first name - McQueen was secretly pleased that his team was coming together. Besides, Damphousse knew when to toe the line. This informality would be behind closed doors: There would not be a problem.

This morning their conversation did not resemble the briefing - or debriefing - that it usually did. McQueen ate in silence, and Damphousse pushed her food around her tray, occasionally taking a bite of the now-cold steak. It reflected her mood.

Vanessa knew the mission objectives, and she knew that the fight for control of the sector was liable to be vicious. It never changed. It never got any better. 

__

"Hell, I might die today. There are many things that I want to ask God when I get to heaven, but - what the hell - there are a few things I want to know now." Something had been bothering her.

"Sir, if I may We were wondering" She paused and corrected herself. "**I** was wondering about your leg, Colonel."

"It's fine." His reply was immediate, heated, and highly charged. "_Hell, now where did that come from?" _he wondered. _"Don't kid yourself. You know exactly where that came from," he_ told himself.

Vanessa was momentarily chastened by his initial response, and did not recognize the fact that he was coming to a decision.

McQueen had told Kelly Winslow about his former wife, Amy. Hell, he had even told her that he was unable to have children. He had told her because death had seemed so near and because she had asked. Now, Vanessa was asking him about something that was pretty much public knowledge. Personal, yes, but a lot of people knew that he had an artificial leg. 

"It's fine," he repeated more softly. He really didn't want to tell anyone the ins and outs of using his new leg. The fact that sometimes the whole thing still felt like it was asleep.' The fact that occasionally he still felt phantom pain. The fact that at the end of the day, or if he had pushed too hard, he would get the equivalent of foot drop' and had a tendency to stumble. What he chose to tell Damphousse instead was:

"I get some twinges, but I'm running five miles a day and taking the ladders two steps at a time."

"It's AI technology, isn't it?" she asked, shyly. 

"My doctor tells me that it's better than AI technology. Twenty years more advanced."

The fact that Phousse respected the Colonel too much to ask How do you deal with that? Having AI crap attached to your body?' did not mean that she didn't think it. And McQueen could read her thoughts.

"I deal with it," he said softly. He did not tell her how hard it had been to deal with. How many weeks he had fought and rejected the idea. He only told her that the battle was over. McQueen added one more thought: "Someone I know - a friend - asked me: How many people can step on their enemy with every step that they take?'"

Vanessa considered the question for a few seconds. She finally decided that she rather liked the irony of it. She looked into McQueen's face and saw that he appreciated it too.

"That puts a certain spin on things, doesn't it," Vanessa responded.

McQueen just nodded.

__

"OK, Damphousse," he thought. _"It's tit for tat. I showed you mine. Now it's time for you to show me yours"_

"So tell me about 2063 Yankee. Tell me about you," he said. McQueen was characteristically concerned about the well being of those in his command. But uncharacteristically he had taken the step of asking. He really did want to hear what Vanessa had to say. 

"There isn't much to tell," she said, giving him her standard answer. "I was unconscious for days."

McQueen did not respond, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably. He was forcing her to speak.

"As for me, Sir? I've de" Vanessa paused. She was going to say that she had dealt with it, but that wasn't true. She checked herself, and gave him the truth. "I'm still dealing with it, Colonel."

He waited again.

"I don't know if I can explain it, but I feel different." She could not bring herself to say the words. She felt as if it was futile. Nothing made a real difference. _"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."_

"Fatalistic?" he asked. " Like you're next?"

"Not exactly," she said softly, and then, "No" with greater strength.

__

" So this isn't the same as Vansen thinking there was a bullet with her name on it," he thought.

"I don't feel alive unless there is a real adrenaline rush going. Unless I'm on the edge Nothing changes. The survivors were released and nothing changed. We're all still out here. I feel it will never end." _"There is no balm in Gilead," _Vanessa thought. She paused again, and then almost blurted, "I feel like something has cracked inside and that I can't mend it."

__

"That was your innocence breaking away," he thought.

"That prayer?" he asked.

"Psalm 23?"

"Yes. Well, I know it." McQueen had certainly heard it enough during his career to now have it complete in his memory through repetition - by osmosis. 

"Vanessa, it says: Lo, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.' Walk through, Vanessa. Walk through. It seems to me that - according to this prayer - it's your job to keep moving. The psalm doesn't say: Lo, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and there I shall pitch my tent.' You don't take a picnic lunch.

You aren't supposed to set up camp. It seems to me that - if you believe - then this psalm is telling you that God has His job to do, but so do you. And yours is not to pitch a tent, but to keep moving. The only way out is through, Vanessa. Keep moving."

Vanessa obviously was considering what he had said. Finally she spoke. "And did your friend tell you that too?"

"What friend?" he asked.

"Your step-on-your-enemies' friend," she said.

McQueen considered. Vanessa was right. "As a matter of fact," he said. It almost surprised him.

"It can be irritating sometimes, can't it, Sir?"

"What?"

"Having smart friends like that," she said.

"Yes, Vanessa. Yes, it can be very irritating," he said.

End Chapter Four

AlRai M. Wheels


	5. Five AlRai

(Five)

20 April 2065

The Hue City

Kappa Reticuli

0300

The captain of the Hue and the executive officer of the Twenty-third MEU (McQueen's XO) were on the bridge. They were charged with maintaining the integrity and safety of the four ships comprising McQueen's MEU.

__

"Train your people and then let them do their jobs." McQueen thought to himself one last time. He would be monitoring the situation from the Command Center one deck below the bridge.

Chan caught up with Colonel McQueen and Lieutenant Damphousse as they were making their way to the Command Center.

"Did you get anything to eat?" McQueen asked as they headed down the passageway. "_Get it while you can_," he thought. They were all liable to be eating on the run for the next few days.

"Sergeant Marsh took care of me, Colonel."

McQueen smiled to himself. Years ago he had been a sergeant himself, and he, too, had been a good sergeant. 

If things had gone badly between Chan and the Cards, McQueen would already know. In any case, it would have been too late now to change anything. But he couldn't help but notice the Wildcards patch on Chan's uniform. It wasn't regulation, but it pleased him. McQueen would not insult Chan by asking him if the team was ready. 

The three took their places in the Command Center. There was really no way to carry off a sneak naval attack - not of this magnitude. The Task Force had entered enemy-held territory. A buzzer had gone off somewhere, and by now the Chigs would know the fleet was on its way. Colonel McQueen gazed at the bank of monitors in front of him. He was not focusing on any one view or information set in particular, but rather trying to stay relaxed. Taking it all in. Looking at the biggest picture possible. Being ready.

Before he could begin his part in the assault on Kazbek - on the mine - the Chig battle force on Cerrus had to be contained, and the moon, Kazbek, had to be isolated. The enemy could not be allowed to cross the strait to the moon. Until the Chig forces on Cerrus were contained there would be no ground action on Kazbek. They presented too great a threat.

The lion's share of the battle for Kazbek would not even take place on it. 

For the first time in many years McQueen would be forced to wait - to hold himself and his forces in reserve. "_At least the Fifty-eighth has had recent practice at that,_" he thought. He never liked being in the rear with the gear. It had little to do with a hunger for battle: It had everything to do with hating to have to watch and wait.

Without taking his eyes off the monitors, McQueen spoke. "Did you hold your own at the poker table?" he asked, surprising Chan, who had to take a few seconds to change gears before answering.

"Only got in a few hands. But yes, Sir, I was up to the challenge. I won my share."

"Good. We can't have them thinking that they can play fast and loose with the Command Staff, can we?" McQueen gave his adjutant a bland look. 

Chan knew him well enough to read the Colonel's humor. He leaned toward McQueen and spoke in a whisper. "They call me Chan the Man' behind my back."

"It's a lot better than being called The Rookie,'" McQueen said with a slight smile, and turned back to the monitors.

Chan gave Phousse a questioning look. She shrugged in reply to his unasked question. She had no idea who 'The Rookie' was either.

"We got company," the ensign watching the lidar called out.

"I see them." McQueen replied. 

The Chig fleet was rising to meet the challenge.

********************************************

The main body of Task Force 85 turned its guns on Cerrus, concentrating fire on the three known fortifications designated Solomon, Gilbert, and Maryanne. 

The crew on the Hue watched the Saratoga and the Vengeance launch their fighters to begin the blockade of Kazbek. 

"Drop the hammers," McQueen's exec ordered from the bridge - anticipating his CO down to the second.

The small fighter group assigned to the Twenty-third MEU launched to fly cover for the troop ships. With any luck they wouldn't have a lot to do. With any luck. 

"Damphousse, the strait," McQueen ordered.

"The strait, aye, aye," she responded, and refocused her monitor. She was to keep her eyes on that patch of space between Kazbek and Cerrus. They would need to know how many Chig transports successfully ran the gauntlet. Anything that wasn't killed in the air would have to be met on the ground.

"Chan, I read two - make that three - capital ships." McQueen said, thereby giving Chan his assignment.

"One more reported on the far side, Colonel," Chan said. 

********************************************

0445

"Colonel, one of the Chig carriers has broken out and is on the move toward the straits," Marshall called out.

"Confirm. Confirm. Coming around the planet now at eight-o'clock," Vanessa punctuated. "The Nevada, the Princess of Wales, and the Vengeance are moving to engage. Four cruisers are on their way too, Sir."

An hour earlier, when things had looked "so far so good," McQueen had called for coffee to be brought to the Command Center. He now looked down into his cup. There was a distinct tilt' to the level of his coffee. The Hue City was responding to the new threat: She was moving off toward the rear. It was the correct response to the shifting battle situation, but that did not relieve Colonel McQueen's itch of frustration.

"Assessment?" he snapped to Damphousse.

"The carrier is moving with little or no escort. I've never seen the Chigs this uncoordinated, Sir."

McQueen concurred. He watched the monitor on his upper left. _" Wait,"_ he thought.

__

" Wait him out. Let him come. See if he's got something moving in behind him."

The seconds stretched into minutes as he watched the ships maneuver on his screen. Smaller aircraft - bombers and fighters - were now fully engaged, but the big ships had yet to fire a shot.

"No other Chig capital vessels are moving to support," Chan reported. "They've got their hand full.

McQueen sipped his coffee, and then whispered to himself. "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake."

Unlike the Earth Force supercarriers, the Chig carriers had surprisingly little defensive firepower: They relied far more heavily on their escort. 

McQueen concentrated on the image on the monitor. _"Wait wait for it." _ He could see no surprises coming around Cerrus from her port. "Gotcha," he whispered, and set down his cup.

The screens lit up - causing McQueen to look away - as seven ships of the line opened fire on the Chig carrier at once.

************************************************** 

Kappa Reticlui

0718

The Battle for Kazbek was four hours old. The Earth Force carriers were starting to rotate their fighter squadrons when Chig bombers heavily hit the Earth Force supercarrier, Saskatchewan. She suffered the loss of her Commanding Officer and most of the bridge crew on duty, as well as six of her landing bays and four of her loading bays. She moved to withdraw to the far side of Kazbek, and the Colin Powell was pulled out of the blockade and sent up to the line to replace her. Chig fighters began to swarm around the injured giant as she moved away from the battle.

"Chan, I want the 5-8 all over that - yesterday," McQueen ordered. _"MSPF - Maritime Special Purpose Force. This is a special purpose, if ever,_" he thought. 

Chan immediately grabbed the horn to the Wildcards. McQueen turned to Phousse only to find that he was already on the COM simultaneously to the Saratoga, calling for the launch, and to the Saskatchewan, letting them know that extra help was on the way. 

**********************************************

As their Hammerheads peeled away from the Saratoga, the Wildcards focused on the battle that was growing around the wounded Saskatchewan. Chig trident fighters - leaving the main battle - were swarming around her. They were flying right by other targets of opportunity and concentrating fire on the "S'katch." It was a disciplined maneuver. The Earth Force carrier was defending herself - launching anything that could fly and fire a weapon. It was real ugly. 

The Cards came in at six-o'clock low, jumping a Chig bomber and two tridents from behind. Several Hammers from the S'katch disengaged from the defense, banked high, and flew to the rear to join the Cards. A risky move, but it paid off. The trident fighters were being separated from the main Chig force. With any luck - if the Saskatchewan and her squadrons could continue to hold out - the Chigs would be boxed in.

There is a centuries old military adage: "Plans change as soon as the first shot is fired." The Chig plan to sink the Saskatchewan began to fall apart.

**********************************************

0900

The battle had slowed, and the three remaining Chig capital ships had withdrawn to a low orbit around the planet - well within the sentry satellites. The Chig carriers aimed what guns they had at the Earth fleet - who returned fire at will. Smaller alien aircraft engaged in sporadic dogfights and bombing runs. The bombardment of the planet Cerrus continued, with the Task Force maintaining the heat. Earth Force did not ease off while the Chigs tried to regroup. There was time, however, to assess the damage, to begin repairs, to check in, to reassess, and to communicate with one another.

Vansen reported in, speaking - as she had expected - with Chan. "Marshall, there is something about the Chig fighters. I think I need to" she said.

"Hold," he interrupted, and cut off communications.

" Damn it all," thought Shane_. "I thought this was going to work. The first time. The first time I need him and it is all screwed up. 'Hold' he tells me. Hold. Damn it. I thought I was not supposed to be stonewalled." _"Damn it," she said, and thumped her side window with her fist.

"Talk to me, Queen of Diamonds." McQueen's voice seemed to fill the cabin of her Hammerhead. 

Vansen's response was immediate and Pavlovian. "MSPF 23 reporting, Sir. All secure."

"Chan said you needed to tell me something about their fighters," McQueen said.

Shane was still so absorbed in her anger that it took her a second to respond to him. 

"They are making mistakes, Colonel"

"All of them?"

"No, but enough."

"New tactics?" he asked.

"If they are trying something new they suck at it. They were skidding around all over the sky. They didn't seem able to re-coordinate. Or regroup and redirect. I think that we've got - or had - a bunch of Chig nuggets out here."

It made sense. It helped explain the colossal blunder the Chig carrier had made.

"Vansen, head back to the Saratoga. I'll give Commodore Ross your assessment. Queen Six out."

Vansen radioed the rest of the Cards to head back to the barn. She was forced to admit that she had misjudged Chan. He had known that relaying information about the fighters would not be his strong suit. He hadn't made her waste time explaining something that he would only partially understand. He had known that McQueen would want to know about the alien aircraft, and that the Colonel would value her impressions. Chan hadn't wasted any time. The COM channel had been dead only a few seconds before McQueen's voice had rattled her. _" This will work," _she thought. _" This will work."_

The Command Center of the Hue City was unexpectedly quiet. Not all of the crewmembers understood the full impact of 'Queen of Diamond's' assessment, but they all knew that it was something significant. The silence was broken by the soft sound of Damphousse punching in the COM code for the Saratoga - the direct channel to Boss Ross. She looked up at Colonel McQueen in expectation. He gave her a nod, and she hit 'send.'

Seconds later McQueen got a response on his head set.

"Go ahead, Queen Six." It was Ross. 

"Queen of Diamonds reports trident fighters erratic - uncoordinated."

"I've gotten some scattered reports of the same thing," Ross responded. He had emphasized the word 'scattered.' It wasn't a universal experience.

"Q.O.D. reports that they fly like trainees," McQueen said. There was a moment of silence before Ross came back with a sigh.

"Well, they had to go someplace. Why not here?"

The primary Chig shipyard and training facility had been at Ixion. If the Chigs had thought that the mysteries of Sewell fuel had been unlocked - that Earth force wasn't interested - it made sense to move the training to the Kappa Reticuli. The infrastructure was there. There were alien troops on Cerrus, and it had a Chig-breathable atmosphere.

"And why doesn't it make me happy?" McQueen asked rhetorically.

Ross gave the answer they were both thinking. "It's good news/bad news. Earth Force has the advantage over inexperienced fighters, but What will 'Mama' do when she finds out that someone is messing with her babies?" 

McQueen had an uncomfortable thought. He remembered the words of Sun Tzu. _"All warfare is based on deception."_

"If they thought that we weren't interested in Sewell fuel" McQueen left the thought dangling.

"They know different now," Ross finished the thought. "We had best make hay while the sun shines."

End Chapter Five

AlRai. To Be Continued

M. Wheels


End file.
